Soulmate
by farawisa
Summary: In a world where everyone has a soulmate, Sherlock Holmes has lived his life, not ever finding his and not wanting to. Then he met John Watson. Sherlock/John Slash Oneshot.


_Title: Soul Mate or Bliss_

_Pairing: Sherlock/John; Mycroft/Anthea_

_Summary: based on the prompt soulmate!AU  
>I imagine an AU where everybody walks along in pairs. Like, everybody has a soul mate they meet and early in life and they just know it's the right person because once they touch, they can immediately feel each other's feelings and hear each other's thoughts.<em>

Everybody except Sherlock. People find him strange for this (Anderson, Donovan) or worry for him (Mrs Hudson, Mycroft). But he likes to be alone, other people just annoy him, and what's so great about sharing your thoughts with someone, anyway?

And then he meets John, and experiences first hand just why having a soul mate is so amazing.

_Ages: Sherlock: 31; Mycroft 38; Anthea 27; Watson 35_

_.o0o.  
><em>

Mycroft Holmes was worried for his brother, had always been. At first it had just been out of obligation. He was the older one so he had the duty to be worried for his younger brother. But as the time passed, he had become genuinely worried for the other man.

The years had gone by and Sherlock was still alone in a world where _everyone_ had someone else, everyone had a soul mate.

It broke his heart every day when he thought about it.

Sure, there had been people who had never met their soul mates because the other had died before they could meet, but that had consequences.

One of them was that people who didn't meet their soul mate normally never got older than their early thirties, thirty-six at the most, and Sherlock was already thirty-one.

Mycroft sighed. He himself had only found his Mate late in his life, when he was twenty nine, and had been lucky to find her as she had already been devastated that she was eighteen and hadn't found her soul mate yet. The young woman had seemed only steps of doing something really stupid.

And then they had shaken hands.

Mycroft smiled when he remembered the warm feeling that had spread through his body when they had first touched. Sure, he himself had thought for a long time that he didn't really need a Mate, but when he had first touched Anthea, he had not known how he had been able to survive this long without her.

She had just been out of university and had applied for a job with him. Needless to say that she had the job immediately and would have it as long as she wanted it.

But back to the problem at hand. Sherlock was thirty-one and Mycroft feared that his time was running out. Sure, there had been cases where people had lived longer than their early thirties when their Mate was still alive somewhere in the world, but what if that wasn't the case. What if Sherlock's soul mate was dead and Mycroft couldn't do anything against that mysterious sickness that befell all those that had not been bound.

Sometimes he cursed this world. It seemed like it didn't matter if you were bound to your soul mate or not, you always died. If you weren't bound because your Mate was dead, it was somewhere between the ages of thirty and thirty five. If you just didn't find them, but they lived, then you had until you were forty. If you were bound, then if one Mate died, the other soon followed. It was unfair.

But there was nothing he could do but hope that his brother's mate was still alive somewhere and that they would meet, preferably for him, soon.

.o0o.

Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective, had long since given up any hope that he would find his soul mate. He was sure that he was not worthy of someone.

At first it had hurt, but over the years, he had come to terms with it, had accepted it and really, what was all this fuss about anyway? Why should it be so great to have someone read your thoughts? Why should he need other people? People just annoyed him. They were useless. There was no one that would be able to keep up with him anyway. No one but his brother and then even he had joined the ranks of Bound idiots.

Sherlock had felt betrayed and had cut any ties with his brother. Why should the other man need him in his life. He now had _Anthea._ Perfect Anthea. The woman had stolen the last person he had been comfortable touching.

That had been nine years ago. Nine years in which Sherlock never had touched another living being. He had become cold and distant, never offered his hand, least he felt disappointed again and again as there was no match for him.

And really why should he offer his hand to anyone? Why should he touch anyone? All the people he met were already Bound, had already found their soul mate. It was useless anyway.

He had stopped caring. He knew that he most likely had only few short years to live now that he had turned thirty-one, but what did it matter. There was no one there to care if he vanished off the face of the earth. Sure, his work was appreciated by the Scotland Yard, but nobody would really miss him. He had taken care of that with being a total ass to anyone and everyone.

And then he had met John Watson and had been unable to be rude to him. And for the first time in years, there, in the very back of his mind, buried beneath layers upon layers of resignation and self-hatred, hope stirred.

.o0o.

Dr. John Watson knew that it was more than likely that he would only live one more year. If he even had that long.

He knew it because he was a physician. He had studied the Bond and he knew that people who weren't Bound didn't reach their thirty sixth birthday. He was Unbound. And thirty five.

By now he had entered the last stage that people went through when dealing with death. He had accepted that he wouldn't live much longer, had made preparations. Sure, sometimes he fell back into depression, thinking 'why should I go on? There is nothing to go on for', and there really wasn't. He wasn't in the war anymore, didn't have a job, was barely able to pay his rent. He just wasn't needed anywhere and by anyone.

Sometimes he would argue with himself that his sister needed him, but then again no one could really help her. She was just too far gone in her addiction. He only pitied her Mate Clara. She suffered the most under what was happening and there was nothing they could do. Besides what he had planned for after his death.

He had stated in his will that he wanted his sister to detox and that she would only get her inheritance when she was clean. He even stated that they could take the money for it from his accounts. He hoped that it would work and that his sister would grant his dying wish even if he wasn't able to convince her to do it while he was still alive.

And maybe he just wasn't cut out to live anymore. He had lived through a war that didn't want to let him go. The nightmares steadily got worse, making it impossible for him to sleep, and he just wanted it to end some days. He knew that there was a chance that his condition would get better once he met his Mate, but he had long since given up that he would find them.

Maybe he should just try to get back into the field and do what he could there before he died.

And then he met Sherlock Holmes and his whole world was turned on its axis.

.o0o.

When he had met his old acquaintance from Barth's again, John Watson wouldn't have thought that this meeting would be the beginning of the largest change to his life ever.

"Mike, might I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine," the man in the lab asked. The ridiculously attractive man.

"What's wrong with the landline?" Mike asked back.

"I prefer to text," the man said.

"Sorry, it's in my coat." Mike didn't seem particularly upset about it.

"Erm, here, you can use mine," John said and gave the phone to the other man, prepared that their fingers would brush and that he would be disappointed again, but it didn't happen. Their fingers didn't brush.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?"

Watson had no idea what the other man was talking about.

"Sorry?"

"Which was it? Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"Afghanistan. Sorry, how-" John was interrupted by a woman that came in the room. Who was he kidding? John thought. The man was most likely Bound anyway. Why should he be lucky now?

John was a bit distracted for the rest of the meeting.

.o0o.

Sherlock knew immediately that Mycroft was in their living room when they came home after they had closed the case. Sherlock thought for a moment. His brother most likely wanted to talk to him alone. Otherwise he could have just said something while John and Anthea were with them.

"Go on up to your room, John," he said and then tried to find a reason for John not to stay in the living room for a moment. "You must be tired."

John knew immediately that something was going on and that Sherlock didn't want him downstairs.

"Everything alright?" he asked, cautiously.

"Sure, just someone that wants to have a talk," Sherlock answered dismissively and John nodded a bit put out. Sherlock obviously didn't want him there and why would he. He was just the flatmate.

"Night then," he said and made his way up the stairs to the other bedroom he had claimed as his.

Sherlock waited until he heard the door upstairs closing and then opened the one to the living room.

"What do you want, Mycroft?" Sherlock asked, suspiciously.

"What a nice greeting, brother," Mycroft answered condescendingly. "Hello to you, too."

Sherlock scowled at his brother.

"I only ask once again. What do you want, Mycroft?" The day had been far from good so far and far from really satisfying. Sure, he had caught the murderer, but he hadn't gotten his answers. Not really.

"You seem to care for Dr. Watson," Mycroft observed as he studied his fingernails.

"What?" Sherlock asked dumbfounded and taken aback. "Why would you say that?"

Mycroft smirked as if Sherlock had just confirmed his suspicions. And maybe he had.

"You lied for him to the police. You knew who the shooter was as soon as you saw him. You knew that it was Dr. Watson and yet you kept that information to yourself even though normally there is nothing that stops you from handing a murderer over to the police. I'd say that is a dead giveaway that you care for him," Mycroft replied. The man looked smug. Much too smug for Sherlock's liking.

"And he cares for you as well. He could have shot to wound the man, but he didn't. He killed him, partly I think, because he knew that would be the only way to stop both of you," the older man went on. "Why don't you just touch him and see if he's your Mate? Why don't you put him out of his misery of not knowing? He's thirty five for god's sake!"

Mycroft's voice had risen on the last bit.

"But what if he isn't?" Sherlock didn't shout back. Quite on the contrary actually. He only whispered it. "Do you have any idea what that would do to him, you self-satisfied bastard? He'd be rejected yet again and his time is running out as it is. He wouldn't even go on looking!"

"Don't you mean that these are your fears?" Mycroft asked gently. "At least give it a chance. Please, Sherlock, if you don't do this for me or even yourself, do it for him. That he can know and isn't left wondering."

Sherlock deflated, looking broken and Mycroft knew that he had won. Sherlock would try. For John's sake.

.o0o.

John only had time to think again when they had closed the case and he was alone in his room. The last two days had turned his life upside down. For the first time in years he felt hope again. When he had first been told that Sherlock Holmes was Unbound, he hadn't known what to think and the man seemed to behave differently towards him than he did to others.

For example had he only said 'Shut up' to Lestrade when they had been on the first crime scene and not to him. Furthermore had the man seemed to glow under John's praise of his deductive skills.

Then he had that talk with Sally Donovan.

"_Stay away from that guy," the woman said._

"_Why?" John asked._

"_Because he's a freak. He's Unbound and doesn't even want a Mate," she answered._

"_So he's not like you then?" John shot back. "He doesn't have a Mate whose heart he's tearing out with every time he's betraying them." _

He didn't like the woman. She obviously was Bound and she was definitely sleeping around. In fact, he hated those people. He had been yearning for a Mate most of his life and never got one. Always stayed alone. She had everything he wanted and she was just throwing it away. He also didn't like gossip and this woman reeked of it.

Then he had met Sherlock's brother, not that he had known that the man was in fact was his brother. To be honest, the man had given him the creeps at first, but he had quickly calmed down again. The man was just putting up a show to intimidate him and John had seen much more intimidating things in his life.

The man had mocked him.

He smiled grimly at the memory of one part of it.

"_What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?" the man asked._

"_I don't have one. I barely know him," John answered and it was the truth. What did the man think their connection was? "I only met him yesterday."_

"_Hmm. Since yesterday you moved in with him and now you're solving crimes together. Might we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?"_

'Like that'll ever happen,' John had thought and was still thinking. Sherlock Holmes would never touch him to even try to find out if they were Mates. The man seemed much too happy with the way his life currently was.

Sure, he knew from Sherlock himself that the man was Unbound, but he seemed adverse to any kind of attachment. There was no way he would chance a relationship.

John sighed. At least he would have a few interesting last months.

.o0o.

Sherlock sat in the living room for a long time after Mycroft had left. He just couldn't bring himself to go up to John's room. What if they weren't Mates?

Sure, Mycroft was right that what he had said were mostly his fears, but surely that had to be John's as well? It couldn't be just himself who thought that way.

And then another thought crossed his mind.

What if they were? What if they were Mates? What then?

Sherlock's life was more than dangerous. He couldn't drag anyone in this kind of life and endanger them. Least of all John, because Mycroft was right on that account, too. He cared for John Watson, even though it was irrational to care for him after knowing him only one day.

And then yet another thought occurred to him.

John couldn't have known that he wouldn't hand him over to the police. He might have thought that Sherlock wouldn't do that, but there was no way he could have known.

Sherlock got a sinking feeling as his brain connected the dots about everything he had seen of John Watson so far.

The man had no regards for his own life and what happened with it. He had already given up. There was nothing he could do to make it worse.

With that in mind, he made his way up to John's room.

.o0o.

John was just dozing off as there was a knock on the door to his room.

"Yes?" he called out, knowing that it could only be Sherlock.

Sherlock opened the door and stuck his head in. There was a look on his face that John had never seen before. Was that uncertainty?

"May I come in?" the man asked. "I think we need to talk."

John shrugged, having no idea what the man wanted to talk about.

"Sure. Come on in," he waved his flatmate inside and offered him a seat. Sherlock sat down on the bed on John's side.

"Have you really given up?" Sherlock asked bluntly, causing John to flinch visibly.

"Why would you say that?" John asked, doing his best to keep his voice even.

"You shot that man," Sherlock said. "You couldn't have known that I wouldn't hand you over to the police."

"You're right. I couldn't have known," John acknowledged. "But the question that I have now is why do you care?"

Sherlock didn't answer. Instead seemed to struggle with himself. Then he struck out his hand. His bare hand.

"Hello, my name is Sherlock Holmes. What's yours?"

John looked first at the hand and then at the man offering it to him. His gaze said that nothing would change their relationship if they weren't Mates, but that he would try if they were.

John grasped his hand.

.o0o.

Sherlock woke the next morning in John's bed, or rather on it, fully clothed. He had no idea how he could have fallen asleep there, but a moment later, he knew that this wasn't the case as memories and feelings not his own penetrated his mind.

It made him want to curl up in a tight little ball, but he couldn't as his eyes found John's face. The other man was still unconscious from the overwhelming experience of their bonding. Sherlock had never before heard of such a strong reaction. Did it have to do with the fact that they had met so late in life? Or was there another reason?

Then the memories made themselves known again, demanding his attention and he fell into John Watson's life again, this time more aware of what he was seeing.

It took two hours to sort through the new memories. Two hours that he spent looking at his mate who didn't stir, didn't move at all. Sherlock was running his fingers through John's hair through all of it; he just couldn't stop touching him.

What he saw in his Mate's life left him in anguish. So much suffering, so much hopelessness, so much despair. Always knowing that there was no one waiting for him, always hoping that today might be the day he met his Mate and always being disappointed, day after day after day.

Sherlock suddenly knew how lucky he was. He had never really wanted a Mate, had never really seen the need for one. John on the other hand had nothing he had wished for more in his life. Sherlock had never really cared what others thought of him, while John had been hurt every day in the knowledge that he was expendable to those around him. He had always been sent to the more dangerous places and on the riskier missions, because he was Unbound. Who cared if he was lost? Only his alcoholic lesbian sister and even she only if she was sober and even remembered she had a brother.

Another thing that he learned about John Watson was that the man also was a highly trained member of the SAS and had killed nearly as many people in his life as Sherlock had brought behind bars. While that should be highly unsettling, Sherlock just couldn't bring himself to be fazed by it.

In these two hours, Sherlock Holmes swore that he would never let any more harm come to his mate. Least of all would he let him go through with that plan of his of eating a gun in six months' time.

As the time went on and John still didn't come to, Sherlock grew more and more restless. Something wasn't right. He could feel his Mate in the back of his mind, like the books, he had read years ago, had described, but still something felt wrong. He knew that there was only one person he would trust with his newfound Mate, even if everything in him wanted to refuse to ask this man for help. But this wasn't about him. This was about his Mate and his Mate wasn't well. So he texted Mycroft.

'Something is physically wrong with John. Need immediate assistance. SH,' he wrote and then clicked 'send'.

Mycroft came with a doctor in tow about twenty minutes later. Sherlock heard them as they entered the house. He called out to them from his position next to John.

"Up here, second floor," he shouted and moments later he heard them on the stairs, hurrying up towards him. They pushed the door to the room open and came rushing inside.

"You need to let me to him," the doctor said to Sherlock. The man only very reluctantly let go of the shorter man and got off the bed.

As he turned to Mycroft, his brother gasped. Sherlock, who had never seen his brother speechless before could only stare at him.

"What?" Sherlock asked after a long moment of loud silence.

"Your eyes," Mycroft whispered.

"What?" Sherlock asked again, not understanding what his brother was on about.

"Your eyes are grey-blue, Sherlock," the man answered.

"What?" Sherlock asked for a third time, understanding even less. What the hell was his brother on about? His eyes were grey-blue? John's eyes were that colour, not his. His were an icy white-blue.

"Your eyes have changed colour since I last saw you. Go to the bathroom and see for yourself." Mycroft had no idea right now what had happened but he knew that he was right.

Sherlock seemed even more reluctant to leave the room than he had been to leave the bed.

"I'll keep an eye on him, Sherlock. No harm will come to him. I promise you."

Sherlock rushed out of the room and down the stairs to the bathroom only to come back up a few moments later, clearly having checked his eye-colour quickly.

"You're right," Sherlock said, looking as if he had just eaten a lemon. "My eye-colour has changed."

The doctor looked up at that.

"Your eye-colour has changed? Can you confirm that Doctor Watson's eyes have changed as well?" the doctor asked as he beckoned Sherlock closer. The man went over to the bed and leaned over to look in the eyes that the doctor held open for him.

"That used to be mine," Sherlock nodded and the doctor nodded as if that cleared everything up. And maybe it did for him.

"Well?" Mycroft asked imperiously as if the man should have told them as soon as he came to a conclusion.

"It seems as if their bond is far beyond anything that is normally seen. Are there any other things that changed in you?"

"I can feel him in the back of my mind, I have his memories, I-"

"Did you just say you had his memories?" the doctor asked perplexed.

"Yes, I did. Is that unusual?"

"Yes, that is very unusual," Mycroft said. "I mean, I have some of Anthea's, but not many. Only a few key-ones. Also our eyes didn't change completely like yours did, as you know; only a few flecks of the eye-colour of the other."

"I have all of his," Sherlock whispered. "At least I think so. Is that bad?"

"It's unusual, highly unusual to be exact. But it happened before. Your Bond is much stronger than that of all the others. You'll be able to communicate over long distances for example."

"While that is good and well, tell me what the hell is wrong with him," Sherlock said, sounding slightly desperate, and Mycroft looked at his brother surprised. He had never heard that tone from him. On the other hand, the man until now didn't have a Mate with whom something was wrong.

"He should wake up with time. He just needs to get used to all this," the doctor said. He gave Sherlock a card. "Call me should he not be awake by tomorrow morning."

Sherlock nodded and the doctor left the flat and let himself out.

"Thank you," Sherlock said, sounding pained to have to thank his brother.

"No problem, Sherlock. Take care of him," Mycroft said. "And Sherlock? I'm happy for you."

Sherlock looked at John and Mycroft could see clearly that his brother now knew why everyone craved a Mate. The other man may not know it yet, but in the last few days he had changed greatly and for the better.

"I will," Sherlock answered as his eyes softened. "I will."

He didn't even notice his brother leave the room and the flat.

It was hours later that John finally woke up. Sherlock had spent all the time watching him sleep, stroking his hair reverently.

"Sherlock?" John mumbled nearly inaudibly.

"I'm here, love," Sherlock was surprised how easily the endearment went over his lips. "I'm here, it's alright, you're safe."

"What happened?" John asked, which triggered Sherlock to remember all that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. "Oh…" John made as he saw everything in his mind.

"How very eloquent of you, love," Sherlock said, but John could clearly feel his amusement.

John grinned at him, but then he groaned. Sherlock was about to ask what was wrong but then he knew.

John had a murderous headache.

Sherlock jumped up and ran down to the bathroom to get him water and a couple of aspirin. He was in the room again only an instant later and gave the pills over to his… was John his lover now?

"You know, you don't have to," John said, quietly and Sherlock could feel the other man's anxiousness.

"I don't have to what?" Sherlock asked. He knew what John was on about, of course he did. He knew it the same way John knew what he had just thought. But he wanted the other man to say it out loud. John seemed to get the hint as he sighed.

"Be a lover or even stay with me. It's okay. I understand. You don't want to have any attachments. You told me as much. And as you seem to have my memories I have no idea how you would want to even stay in the same room as me-"

John was shut up a moment later as Sherlock kissed him squarely on the mouth. Sherlock had no idea what he was doing, only that he had to reassure John that he wanted him and that he wanted him just the way he was.

Sherlock pulled back a moment later and run his fingers through John's hair again as he lay down beside John, looking at the other man.

"I know what you went through and I know that you can't imagine anyone wanting you, but I do. I may not be able to jump into a sexual relationship with you at once, but I certainly want you in a way I _never_ wanted anyone before."

Sherlock seemed confused, but there was something in his voice, in his stance, in his feelings, in his thoughts, that showed John that Sherlock really was honest about what he said. He was wanted. For the first time in his life he was wanted.

Sherlock smiled at him and for the first time in Sherlock's life, he knew what all the fuss was about having a soul-mate. He just couldn't be happier. He leaned in again and the only thing he felt was Bliss.

.o0o.

The next time they were at a crime scene nobody seemed to notice anything at first, because no one really looked at them, but then Sally Donovan had arrived and she seemed to notice immediately.

Sally Donovan knew that something was up the moment she arrived at the crime scene. Before now she had known that Sherlock Holmes was a freak of nature and she had never shied away from telling him of what she thought of him.

And then she had met John Watson and the man had been the first to really tell her off for it. And for sleeping with another than her own Mate.

As if she wanted to sleep with the boring idiot that was her mate. He wasn't worth her and she was more than capable of being separated from him and teaching others to do that as well.

So when she arrived at the crime scene and John Watson and Sherlock Holmes were there, appearing to all the world as if they were dancing around each other and anticipating each other's moves, she knew what had happened.

And nobody else seemed to notice.

She frowned at the scene. Could it be that the freak had found his Mate in a useless army doctor? That served him right. The man was useless. He couldn't even be discharged honourably. He had to be sent home for a limp. A limp that was now nowhere to be seen and that hadn't even lasted that first day she had known him.

And then John Watson looked up at her. She saw his eyes and she froze.

His gaze pinned her in place, made her unable to move. And all because of his eye-colour. An eye-colour she had only seen on one person before. And that was certainly not John Watson. It was Sherlock Holmes and only him. She would have remembered if John Watson had had the same eye-colour as the freak at their last meeting even though it had been dark then.

Then Holmes looked up as well and she was left staring in his eyes. They were now a stormy grey-blue colour.

"What the hell," she breathed and Lestrade looked up at her dumbfounded.

"What?" he asked and she could see the freak smirk at her. Then a smile stretched over Watson's face as well and suddenly she wasn't so sure anymore what the reason for John Watson's retirement had been. She had only assumed and now she felt that it had been a mistake to assume when his eyes turned predatory. That man wasn't useless. That man wasn't helpless. That man would do everything that was necessary. And everything that was necessary to keep Sherlock Holmes safe.

They would be a force to be reckoned with and their bond seemed to be a lot stronger than anything she had ever seen before. It was unheard that the whole eye-colour changed. Some flecks if they were very close, yes, but never the whole eyes.

She felt that there would be nothing to stop Sherlock Holmes now that he had his mate and she wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad thing.

-THE END-


End file.
